


Decisions, comma, Better Than Expected

by opusculasedfera



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Wedding Planning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-01
Updated: 2014-10-01
Packaged: 2018-02-18 01:08:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2329706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/opusculasedfera/pseuds/opusculasedfera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Planning is totally the same as a list of vague things you're definitely not going to do at some unspecified future date, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Decisions, comma, Better Than Expected

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flawsinthevoodoo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flawsinthevoodoo/gifts).



> For digitalantibiotics; I hope you like it! Thanks to daisysusan and ohtempora for putting this exchange together.
> 
> Many thanks to capslockbee and mistfarer for beta reading and reining in my use of 'bud' as dialogue punctuation.
> 
> Summer, 2014: some wedding planning, in a way.

I mean, I think they knew, like, implicitly?" Sam says, chin digging into the top of John's head.

"Or another way to put that is: you chickened out again."

Sam squeezes him, a little too hard. "I mean, Hallsy and them definitely know, you know that, and he's not exactly subtle. I don't know how they could have missed it."

"Pretty sure even Taylor isn't having gossip seshes with the GM about your love life, bud," John says. He pats Sam's thigh.

"Fuck off, you know what I mean,” Sam says. He pauses, taking a deep breath, and adds, kind of dreamily: “I’d sorta like to see him try though. After all this, I think MacT really deserves to have Hallsy try to explain other people’s emotions to him. God, the look on his face would be epic.”

“While that would be hilarious if it wasn’t about my sex life, it didn’t actually happen. Unless the Oilers are way more fucked up than anyone suspected and that’s the real reason you guys keep losing.”

“Shut up, they’re not even my problem anymore,” Sam says. His tone is still light. John squeezes his shoulder anyway. “Anyway, wouldn’t it have to be the PR people to know first and whatever?”

“Maybe?” John says. “Not sure. I guess Jesse in the front office was the one who asked if there was any shit he really needed to know, so I kind of let him pass it all on. Snow’s not really around a ton, you know?”

“You fucker,” Sam says, laughing. “Acting like I’m the only one who hasn’t gotten my act together.”

“I can still tell them,” John grumbles. “And they know, like, part of it so it’s easier, right?”

“If you say so.”

“I do say so.” John resists the urge to make a face, which doesn’t really make the retort less childish.

“Whatever, it’s not like it’s not too late to deal with that in Edmonton,” Sam says. "I'm just saying, I don't know what the Yotes know, but it's probably not that. No one tells us poor traded bastards shit, not that you would know anything about that, Captain, my Captain."

"Shut up, _you_ don't have to call me that," John says.

Sam sounds delighted. "Oh man, do you make the rookies call you that? For real? I dunno if they'll go for it this year, eh? You've got some lively ones!"

John punches his side, not too hard, and they roll around on the couch for a bit until they're both a little breathless and Sam's lying against John's chest, except for the parts of him that are falling off the seat. He’s a warm weight, his hair brushing John’s chin, his stubble a little rough on John’s collarbones. John puts an arm around him to keep him from falling further, and Sam makes a pleased noise, snuggling backwards into it.

“You’re just trying to distract me,” John informs him.

“Yeah,” Sam says, hand creeping up John’s leg.

“You proposed,” John says, for the thousandth time. “That means it’s gotta happen sometime, even if you’re chickening out now. Like a wuss.”

“Uh huh,” Sam says, hand still moving.

“I can still make fun of you, even while you grope me,” John says into Sam’s hair, feeling his sigh against his chest.

“You say that, but I don’t see it happening.” 

John pokes him in the side, fends off the retaliation, and kisses Sam’s ear. They make out for a while, not with any real intent. John thinks it’s probably the wrong thing to say that it’s like all their other kisses, people never say shit like that, but he means it in a good way, like they’ve got this shit down, perfectly practiced. 

“Renée’s going to be super bummed that she doesn’t get to be your bridesmaid, bud,” he says when they’ve stopped, Sam’s head tucked comfortably against John’s shoulder again.

“Fuck off, I’m not having any damn bridesmaids. She can be your bridesmaid.”

“But she’s _your_ sister.”

“Going to be your sister too,” Sam mumbles into John’s neck.

He’s known Renée since she was maybe six and a total pain in the ass who alternated between throwing things at them and shrieking, or stealing his shoes and pretending she didn’t. There’s honestly no reason he should want her as a sister or have feelings about it. He squeezes Sam. “I’m not having any damn bridesmaids either.”

Sam laughs. “Great. One bit of wedding planning down. We’ve got this.”

“If the plan is to do nothing until some arbitrary time, sure.”

Sam brushes his lips across John’s cheek, barely a kiss. “Soon, I promise. When all this shit’s died down.”

“You’re just messing with me now. And after all that work I put into the flower arrangements,” John says.

“Yeah, yeah.” Sam dismisses him, pulling his legs up onto the couch to wind them with John’s. There isn’t really room. It’s good anyway.

“Well, I say me, I mean Laura and my mom,” John says thoughtfully. Sam yanks back to stare him in the eye, looking remarkably horrified. His fingers dig into John’s shoulders.

“Jesus, are you fucking _kidding_ me, you got your sisters involved, you motherfuck--” There’s a pause. “Oh. You are. Jackass.”

“Gotcha,” John says, pulling Sam back against him and taking the jab in the gut with a smile.

“They would straight-up murder you,” Sam informs him.

“No shit,” John says. “Except it would be you, because which one of us is cancelling again? And like, I don’t really give a fuck about having flowers or whatever. Or whenever this happens, really. Before we have another lockout? That cool?”

“But Europe’s so romantic in the springtime,” Sam laughs.

“Yeah, well, you should have thought of that when I said it’d be easier to elope right then and there in Germany,” John says. 

“I’d proposed like 30 seconds earlier, that was too fucking soon, bud,” Sam says. “Give a guy a chance to recover.”

“We’d be almost that anonymous in New York,” John says, a peace offering.

“Hey, if you can swing that, you know I’m there,” Sam says, shoulder digging into John’s chest with a shrug that doesn’t really fit with the twist of his mouth.

“I’m working on it,” John says, and he is so goddamn gone if he’s going to have this many feelings over Sam nodding like he’s got every confidence in him and settling in on his shoulder like the conversation’s over. 

Good thing they’re getting fucking married. Holy shit.


End file.
